


The Worst Decision

by Frumpologist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Feelings Realization, Fluff, Reconciled Relationships, Themed Drinks, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-10 22:24:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17434625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frumpologist/pseuds/Frumpologist
Summary: Every year, the Leaky Cauldron hosts a Valentine’s Day themed night out. Pansy has no intentions to go this year, but Blaise drags her out and that’s when she sees Ron for the first time since last Valentine’s Day.





	The Worst Decision

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DarkAngelOfSorrowReturns](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkAngelOfSorrowReturns/gifts).



> This story was written for the Secret Admirer Exchange at Draco’s Den. Many thanks to the admin team for running such a fun event! 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and anything you recognize is not my own, sadly.

Valentine’s Day. Again _._ _Ugh_. 

There was no real purpose to the holiday except, perhaps, an excuse to imbibe far too many alcoholic beverages and sleep with The Worst Decision™ ever made. Honestly, she’d done it often enough to potentially earn herself a reputation… if anyone actually cared what she did.

So, Pansy was staying in and away from Poor Decision Making. 

She fixed up a potent cocktail – the Bloody Valentine, complete with vodka and a dash of vampire blood (fake, of course, she’s not crazy) – and sat on her settee with a thick book and wooly socks on her feet. She’d gotten all of three sips into her beverage when her floo burst to life. Green flames lit up the small den where she’d barricaded herself and then Blaise Zabini strolled in. He was dressed for a night out, cool blue button down shirt, gray slacks, smelling of oak and bourbon. On the prowl, of course. 

Fucking Valentine’s Day. 

She peered at him over the rim of her blood red drink and narrowed her eyes. 

“Not really in the mood for your shit today, Blaise.” 

An easy smile slid over his face as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Fancy seeing you this evening, too, Pans.” 

She didn’t find him cute. She narrowed her eyes as he approached. That strong jaw of his might work to convince every other female within a fifty kilometer radius that he was Merlin’s Gift To Witches, but Pansy knew better. He was wicked. She’d heard rumors that his tongue was wicked, too. But that was neither here nor there. 

“You’re not staying in tonight, are you?” Blaise asked, towering over her with a dashing smirk. “You never stay in for Valentine’s Day.”

“Believe it or not,” she growled and tossed the book to her side and pushed herself off the settee. Right in his face because the only way that Blaise ever took a hint was when they were obvious and spelled out clearly. “I don’t particularly care to go out, get pissed, and bring home a bloke who wants me to suck him off while barking commands at me to be a Dirty Girl.” 

Blaise laughed as his eyes flitted over her face. “Just because you go out, it doesn’t mean you must find yourself among the dregs of society. They should be at  _ your _ feet, Parkinson. Not the other way around.”

And that was exactly why she kept Blaise Zabini around. Gorgeous to look at and came with a built in confidence boost. Loved him dearly. Best mate ever. He took a chunk of her dark hair between his fingers and she watched as he twisted it around with a sparkle in his eye. 

“Alright,” she agreed with an exaggerated sigh and sparkling eyes. “I’ll go, but I’m not going home with anyone. I’m alone tonight – solo.” 

Blaise let her hair fall back against her chin and turned around to head to the floo. “Get dressed and meet me at the Leaky in an hour.” 

“Blaise,” she called out to him as he stepped into the grate. He glanced over his shoulder at her with a devilish sort of smile on his face. “He’s not going to be there this year… right?” 

“An hour.” Blaise held up his wrist and pointed to his watch. Wanker. “Don’t be late.”  

And then he was gone in the same green flames that brought him into the room. She stared at the empty floo until the fire settled and then bolted to her room to find the perfect ensemble for the evening. 

When she walked into the Leaky Cauldron an hour  _ and fifteen minutes _ later – fuck Blaise, she had to be fashionably late or not present at all – the inn was packed with several ministry officials and all of the underlings of the various represented departments. The bar was packed, the tables all taken, and Blaise was nowhere to be found. A hand clasped around her elbow and her first instinct was to jerk it back and into whoever had deemed fit to touch her without permissions’ solar plexus. 

“You’re late,” Blaise’s deep brogue whispered in her ear. 

Pansy spun around with a smile and gestured to her body. “Darling, to look this good takes time and attention to detail.” 

His eyes roved her body and he nodded appreciatively. “Other witches better take notes.” 

She wore a simple bubblegum pink dress that dipped low in the front and flowed out at her knees. Her favorite black needle-heel shoes added another three inches to her height. Everything about her outfit was carefully chosen to say ‘look, but don’t touch’. Even as various pairs of eyes turned to take her in, Pansy smirked and swayed her hips as she followed Blaise up to the bar. 

Blaise leaned against the wooden bar top and flagged down the scruffy bartender with a crooked finger. The bartender greeted them with a dimpled grin and Pansy’s eyes found the pronounced collarbone peeking out of his collared, unbuttoned shirt. 

“I’ll have a Sweet Seduction,” he said and if Pansy didn’t know any better, she’d say he was flirting with the bloke, “and she’ll have a Cupid’s Cock –”

Pansy swatted him on the stomach, though with the toned hardness it probably hurt her more than him. 

“ –tail.” 

“Git.” She shoved a chunk of her fringe off to the side of her forehead. Blaise chuckled at her. “Must you always be so crass, Blaise?” 

“What’s Valentine’s Day without a little cock?” She rolled her eyes as he grabbed the drinks from the bar and handed her a pink, fizzy drink in a short tumbler. Blaise clinked their glasses together. “To finding love.” 

“To ignoring love completely and instead going home with self-respect and a hangover.” Pansy knocked her beverage back quickly. 

Over the course of the evening, she was plied with many various drinks – her favorite being a light blush colored thing called Young Lust. Blaise kept her well lubricated and it wasn’t long before she allowed herself to roam through the Leaky. She found that over the years, she hadn’t kept up with many of her former housemates. It was interesting to see how many of them actually made a living working for the Ministry. She’d hate it – a soul-sucking avenue if there ever was one. 

Pansy much preferred the freedom of owning her own boutique. Besides, she could stay on top of fashion that way and try to make the world prettier one frumpy housewife at a time. 

“Pansy!” 

She turned on her very pointed heel and grinned when Daphne ran over to her and threw her arms around Pansy’s neck. 

“Oh, Greengrass, when did you get back to England, you sneak?” Pansy kissed her on the cheeks. 

Daphne’s tinkling laughter filled the space around them. Draco appeared suddenly behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist as she held out a hand to Pansy. She thought, perhaps, Daphne meant for her to shake it, which was odd, but then the sparkle of a diamond blinked off of a light and Pansy lost her shit. 

  
“Oh Merlin, he actually did it!” Pansy squealed and jumped and grabbed Daphne’s hand, completely ignoring Draco’s laugh. “Oh, fuck, we have so much to plan. Are you staying in England, then? Or are you back off to France, because the beach would be so lush, or we could book the Louvre –  _ oh,  _ Daphne, I’m so happy for you!” 

Daphne’s hand tensed in hers. Pansy watched her bright, happy eyes dim and narrow. Something coiled in her stomach – she knew  _ that _ look. Even as Pansy’s eyes slid to Draco’s glare, she swallowed around a knot in her throat. Fuck. She fidgeted with her dress, made sure that it was smoothed down in all the right places and then glanced at Daphne asking the silent question:  _ is my hair and makeup alright? _ Daphne dutifully nodded. 

Pansy rubbed her finger along the line of her bottom lip, pressed her lips together, and turned away from Draco and Daphne, whose news she promised to celebrate with them soon. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. 

“Pansy.” 

She was used to the shock of red hair that greeted her. It fell in a perfect mess around his head and dusted across the shoulder of his dark blue button down. She tried not to let her eyes fall, but they did and she cursed herself for it. He looked  _ good _ . 

“Ron,” she said genially and then took a sip of her Love Potion Vodka because otherwise she was going to tell him just how good he looked and she couldn’t possibly give him that satisfaction. 

“You look nice.” His blue eyes pierced straight through her. Fuck, he was gorgeous, though. He’d done so much work that his arms were thick and defined. His shoulders were wide and his lips so full as he spoke her name again. “Pansy, I –”

“Bugger off, Weasel King.” Draco snarled and the tips of Ron’s ears went red. “Just because you’re here at the request of the Ministry doesn’t give you free reign to associate with your superiors.” 

“I don’t work for Pa –  _ oh _ .” 

Ron’s eyes narrowed at Draco and Pansy glanced over her shoulder to tell Draco to knock it the fuck off. This battle of wits doesn’t have to happen in the middle of a crowded pub on Valentine’s Day.  _ Again. _ Pansy shoved her hand into the middle of Ron’s hard chest and forced him to back away from the situation even. 

“What the hell is his problem?” Ron’s back hit a wall and Pansy nearly collided into him, but he seemed not to notice. “We were mates!” 

His blue eyes found hers and they softened immediately. Pansy exhaled sharply through her nose and pulled her hand away, but Ron caught it and held it tight against his chest. She didn’t know what else to do, so she gulped back the rest of her drink in one, burning swallow and set the glass down on a nearby tabletop. 

“Pansy.” Ron’s soft voice urged her to look at him again, but she found a very interesting lemon peel on the floor and decided to focus on that instead. His finger moved to her chin and tipped her gaze up to him. “What the hell is going on? We haven’t talked since –”

“Last Valentine’s Day,” she whispered, finishing his sentence for him. His finger crooked under her chin and she leaned forward. “We haven’t talked since last Valentine’s Day, Ron.” 

His eyes flicked between hers, blue on brown, and he took a deep breath. “Did I do something wrong?” 

“No.” Pansy laughed, because she couldn’t imagine that Ronald Weasley, the Gryffindor Golden Boy, ever doing something so wrong it would warrant exile from her life. And yet… “It’s not you, it’s me.” 

“Bollocks, Pansy. That’s absolute  shite and you know it.” Ron’s hand dropped from her face, but he held firm to the one pressed against his chest. 

She felt it rumble with his annoyance and tried her best not to smirk at the reaction she got from him. It was her favorite thing about him, the way he truly felt things and allowed his emotions to show. Merlin, if she could ever be so lucky.  

“No, really.” She curled her fingers into the soft material under her hand. “Draco’s just protective, Ron, you know that. It’s… you were getting too familiar.” 

A dark ginger eyebrow lifted over his eye and she saw his tongue poke against his cheek. “Too familiar?” 

“We’ve slept together every Valentine’s Day for the past five years.” She deadpanned, because it was not a secret and especially not between them. 

“I’m very aware.” She resisted the urge to look down and see how aware, precisely, he was, because she could hear the innuendo in his tone and the register of his voice dropped significantly. There was a heat behind his gaze and she felt it sparking up her spine. “We said from the beginning that it was just casual sex.” 

Pansy closed her eyes to gain a moment of peace, to sort her thoughts before she said the very first thing that popped into her head as she was wont to do. When she opened them again, she noticed how very dark blue his eyes turned. 

“That’s the problem, Ron.” She pulled her hand from beneath his and stepped back. “I don’t want casual anymore. Not from you. And we agreed, so obviously I need to walk away and –”

“Well, I don’t want casual either.” He challenged her with a raised brow. She opened her mouth to make a point –  _ any fucking point _ – but nothing came to mind. He didn’t want casual either? 

She was doomed.

And she was okay with that.

His lips crashed onto hers and she was turned around faster than she could move her heels. Pansy’s heel slid against the floor, but Ron’s body pinned her in place and kept her from falling to the ground. She made a noise into the kiss as his tongue moved against hers. Merlin, she’d missed this for an entire year and everything about Ron Weasley that she tried to forget came flooding back. The homely smell, the way his hard, tall frame felt against her, the growl he issued every time the back of her hand found the front of his trousers. 

Ron’s lips glided away from hers and trailed toward her ear. “You want to get out of here?” 

She nodded and held him tight around the shoulders. He stepped forward into her, twisted his foot between hers, and then she felt a sharp tug at her navel. The Leaky Cauldron swam from view and she swore that she could see Blaise tip a drink in her direction before everything went black. 

When they landed back at his flat, her heels hit the ground and then so did she. He tumbled after her while trying to stop her fall and instead landed on top of her. She made an  _ oof _ sound and he chuckled. His breath fanned across her face and when her dark eyes snapped to his, something inside of her coiled. 

His hands were in her hair and his lips pressed against hers again. She arched her body, jerked her hips, wrapped her legs around his thighs, and swiped her tongue against his. The roots of her hair stung as he tugged at them and moved her face enough to deepen the kiss. Pansy felt his hard length against the crux of her thighs. 

She pulled her mouth away from him and panted. “Are you seriously going to shag me on the floor, Weasley?”

He laughed as he placed his lips to the soft flesh of her neck. His hips thrust forward and warmth pooled in her belly. Pansy’s dress was bunched around her upper thighs and so the only barrier between them was his trousers and her knickers. When he moved again, she cried out at the friction it created. 

Ron’s lips traced the fabric that stretched along her breasts. She heard the sharp  _ chink _ of his belt buckle, felt him fumble to kick off his slacks, and then with detail that her mind filled in from past experience, Pansy felt his erection against the cotton of her underwear. She breathed out as his fingers dipped between her thighs and yanked the cotton to the side. 

“Ron, wait-”

He stilled immediately. Blue eyes filled with desperation flicked to her gaze. She could feel his muscles twitching against the way he held his body over her. Pansy smiled, a gesture he returned crookedly. 

“Is this a bad decision?” 

“Obviously.” Ron’s heavy breath caused goosebumps along her chest and down her arms. “It’s the worst decision ever. This floor is bloody unforgiving and I’m not exactly a randy teenager anymore.”

She laughed. He was always making her laugh. And she thought, even as his finger moved questioningly against her center, perhaps she’d allow him to make her laugh forever. 

“If you’re going to tell me to bugger off-” his voice was husky, like he was barely holding himself back. 

“No, no,” she assured him. Her hands roved over his shoulders and her pink, manicured nails dug into his back. Pansy arched her back and closed her eyes. “Keep going.”

It didn’t last long, not like years before when he’d shagged her far into the morning hours. They moved together and Pansy urged him on with throaty moans. What Ron lacked in comfort against a hard, cold floor, he more than made up for with stamina. 

And when they laid together on his settee some time later, Pansy couldn’t snuggle close enough to him. She smiled but didn’t say anything. Her hand found its way to the back of his head and pulled his lips down to hers. 

“I probably love you, Pansy,” Ron whispered into her ear as she settled against his chest.

“Yeah, and you’re probably not The Worst Decision, Weasley,” she responded with a hidden smirk. 


End file.
